


birds of a feather (or: terrible people attract)

by Emeka



Category: Growlanser (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Overstimulation, Sock Garters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-03 00:23:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16315523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: You can use anything if you try. (Dulkheim Route/President Ludwig ending)





	birds of a feather (or: terrible people attract)

**Author's Note:**

> vallery doesn't deserve any of this tbh

It has been a month since Crevanille left Dulkheim. Returning isn't what he'd call coming home--he's been on the move so long. Even with a technical place of residence for the past two years, he's been away more often than not.

And while the core of Dulkheim remains the same, its borders have been expanding. Slowly at first, with no outside country wanting to kneel to this impudent invasive force that demanded tribute, responding with fight over flight. But Crevanille had been entrusted with a mission; going to war gave him no fear, when the possibility had already been considered. And all considerations given, they were the ones who needed to be afraid.

Things went smoother after that. While some countries remained obstinate, they have dwindled by the week. They loved their land and saw what happened to those who resisted. How it had all been for naught. It was so much easier to kneel. So beyond the sluggish start, things progressed as smoothly as could be asked for.

He has returned with his latest news, basically to give a face-to-face report on the foreign situation. He has been looking forward to it. Not because it is home here, but for a specific person.

Ludwig. He's the reason he's doing all this to begin with, after all; of course he wants to see him again. Otherwise there's little point. Fortunately he's had the time to return more and more lately, as things deescalated.

So he is in this office once again. Surprisingly little about it has changed. Crevanille would have thought that the office of a man come into so much territory would be more... extravagant? multi-cultural? But besides the growing pile of paperwork, even the smell is the same.

Even Ludwig looks more or less the same. Same broad, coldly pleasant face, same proud posture. The period of separation seems to refresh Crevanille's eyes each time to one thing though; he keeps forgetting how good he looks in his uniform.

Uniforms are a good look in general, but it's not every day you see someone look so comfortable in one. Crevanille has never seen Ludwig dressed casually, and doesn't think he'd ever want to. Though the idea does make him wonder what he wears underneath; a dress shirt, undoubtedly, and some form of underwear, though that isn't nearly as appealing as the question of his sock wear.

Sock garters, specifically. A mythical piece of equipment that he has only objective knowledge of, supposedly worn by well-dressed men to keep their socks from sagging down. Over his life, Crevanille has known few men who struck him as neat enough to bother. Maybe it's because they seem so elusive that they appeal to him, but it's become a point of fascinated contrast, the same he supposes other men feel about stocking garters. The gap of flesh between garter and fabric, and here, the associated formality--

"Crevanille?"

He starts at the sound of his name, and looks up guiltily. What had they even been talking about? He'd been too busy thinking to pay much attention. "Sorry. I was just..."

"What is keeping your attention away from me?" The question is mildly put; Ludwig even looks amused. But then, Crevanille has always been allowed slightly more liberties, as the one acting as his right arm. Their relationship is not equal, but a little more than boss and subordinate. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing. I was just..." Could just say he's out of it from the trip, but while he's in this position, there's a part of him that really wants to push the envelope, no matter how unwise it is. "I was thinking about whether or not you wear sock garters." What they might look like. But that is too direct.

An unmodulated expression of blank surprise crosses Ludwig's face for a half-second before it's replaced with careful neutrality. "And why is that?"

Crevanille feels a dull creeping sense of embarrassment tingling the back of his nape and scalp. Well, what's he going to do, fire him? Best to be bland about it. "I think you're attractive."

In the pause that follows, he can see him deciding what to do with the information. The thought that ultimately, Ludwig will use him as he does everyone else, is pleasing. This is the man he decided to follow.

Eventually he goes back to looking very modestly amused. "And it's my sock garters you're interested in, is it?"

Crevanille manages some kind of affirmative. His head is mixed in the possible covert admittance of said garters, and feeling both a little relieved and disappointed that it might not be a big deal.

"I think you're tired," Ludwig says then, in a tone of odd gentleness. "Go get some rest."

Crevanille receives a summons to Ludwig's personal room later that evening. In all the time he's known him, he's never actually been there. His brain is going overboard with possibilities, to the point he feels a little outside himself. 

Even once he's inside, it feels surreal. Part of it may be that it still looks business-like, but maybe that's to be expected from just the sitting room area. It's almost like being back in the office.

There's two couches facing each other over a gleaming wooden table. Ludwig is already sitting when he enters, and the curt nod he gives indicates for him to sit on the other side.

It feels just as stiff as it looks.

"Are you old enough to drink?"

Crevanille looks over the table, sees a bottle and two glasses. He wonders if the question is deliberate--a reminder of their age difference. "A year off. But I won't tell if you won't."

Ludwig laughs politely and uncaps the bottle. From inside comes a smell that is dark and somehow oily. "Do you drink often?"

"No. I only did back in the mercenary group I was with, and the only thing anyone was willing to sneak me around our boss was rotgut."

"Whiskey might be an adjustment for you." The liquor tips only a little puddle in each glass, and the sight of it is better than the smell. A warm brown colour, like his eyes. "But I don't drink hootch."

Like serving civet coffee to someone who's only had ration coffee... Crevanille is a little intrigued, but also reasonably sure alcohol is known for its bite. He probably still won't like it.

"Cheers."

They clink and Crevanille tries to down his as confidently as Ludwig does. But that little puddle, as innocuous as it looked, stalls and burns at the back of his throat.

He forces it down with as much dignity as he can muster while wheezing into his palm. He can't say much for the flavor but it does feel better in his guts than rotgut. Like a flame traveled down his esophagus and ignited a bonfire.

His face feels red and his head dizzy, which might be from his first shot of real alcohol, but is more likely from the exertion of not choking.

"Wow," is the first word he can manage. "At least it didn't go up my nose."

"You learn." 

Crevanille focuses on setting his glass right in the middle of his coaster while the oxygen comes back to his head. "So, was there something you needed from me?"

"Just a question. What did you expect to get from me?"

"Not really. I never had any expectations of anything, so I never went beyond thinking about how handsome your face is."

He laughs. "And thinking about my sock garters?"

"Well. Yes."

"And all you want is my acknowledgement? Even if you're being used?" There's a note of dissatisfaction, although he's still smiling.

"Yeah, sure." 

"I see." He doesn't look as though he does. But then, he's such a willful man himself, it must be difficult for him to imagine someone giving themselves up for next to nothing. Money, fame, power, sex--those would seem like valid reasons. If Crevanille had come to him merely because he was infatuated and desired reciprocation, it would have been a stupid motive, but a motive at least. "What did you hope to gain then?"

What answer is he looking for? Something he can give him, a way to feel like he has tied-up this loose thread?

"Coming back to tell you how well I've done, seeing you pleased with me, was all I needed."

Alright, that does make him sound infatuated. Ludwig raises an eyebrow a little, like he's thinking the same thing, but says nothing else on it.

"Is there... a reason for all this?"

"Let's try something. Make a deal. Since you _have_ been doing so well for me."

"A deal?" 

He nods. "Sex, in return for your service. Surely this is the greatest acknowledgement you could ask for."

Crevanille smiles and looks modest, happily embarrassed and honored, every little gesture that he should show. Inside he is more than happy; he is delighted. Delighted that Ludwig's suspicions of his motives have waylaid him. 

If he thinks he's cementing his loyalty with this, or that he'll switch sides for the first guy who flirts with him, he's wrong. He really was happy just to serve him. He's the only one getting something out of this.

He wonders if Ludwig has been thinking about his reasons to switch sides all this time. Perhaps not having him killed straight-off was leeway enough, for him.

"If you don't mind, then I don't have it in me to refuse. How will this work out, though?"

Ludwig frowns slightly and leans against the back of the couch. It feels like he's giving him a once-over. "How experienced are you?"

"Not very," Crevanille frankly admits. "I've only slept with Vallery. He's a little out of it from every one else dying or leaving, and it turns me on. I'm all he has left."

"What an awful person you are," Ludwig says, voice full of sympathy, as though he actually cares. Crevanille is sure he knows who Vallery is, since he's with him on his missions more often than not, but sincerely doubts he cares about his personal well-being. "I would never do that to someone. Not to you."

Oh, he's lying through his beautiful teeth. Crevanille likes him more for it; please treat me in the end like you do everyone else, however important to you I am. Lie to me, use me, if there's anything at all for you to gain by it. "I guess you know how to treat a lover, then?"  

"I've dabbled, but I've no interest on the whole. Other things are so much more important."

Crevanille picks up his glass again and tilts it back. What's left mostly just stings against his lips and in his mouth. Doing something he normally doesn't gives him courage to be more impulsive.

He slowly makes his way around the table, hoping his intentions are obvious. The tension tightens with each inch closer: he can feel him tracking every movement, just in case. And quickly drains out as he slides into his lap.

Motion passed.

Ludwig offers him something from his pocket. A handkerchief. "Wipe off your mouth. I'm not getting that all over me."

Crevanille obeys, though it makes him a little sad. Not that he really expected to get away with it, but he likes getting his lipstick all over Vallery's face and mouth, likes seeing him all messy.

He kisses Ludwig far more carefully than he has ever kissed Vallery. Part of it is just trying not to smudge his glasses, the other is that he wants to really pay attention to what the kiss is like. These are Ludwig's lips, softer than he thought--somehow he thought it'd be like kissing steel, but they are lips after all. And this is how the inside of his mouth tastes, tinted with whisky, something he shouldn't know at all. It's forbidden knowledge. He's kissing his boss, this cold awful man almost twice his age.

"You can remove my coat."

He does it as reverently as he can then neatly folds it to place on the back of the couch.

"What about your glasses?" He kind of wants them out of the way to see the lines around his eyes better.

"I'm not completely blind, but I do prefer them on."

He eyes his gig line between kisses and lightly pulls on his tie.

He's gratified to see when they part that Ludwig's cheeks are slightly rosy. His hand still touches only his leg, but more restlessly. He thought there'd be more of an adjustment period. Maybe he's not the only one who's been thinking about this...

Ludwig moves his hands inner, inner, over his groin. "I can touch you, but you need to wear a condom so there's less mess."

"I don't have--"

"I do." He pulls one out from his pocket, between his pointer and middle fingers.

"You're prepared, huh?"

"Always."

"Let me see you put it on."

Crevanille unzips himself, makes a small show of touching himself before slipping on the condom. He's nervous he would have messed it up somehow as he's never worn one before, but it looks alright.

Ludwig languidly jerks him off. Like a matter of business. The feel is muted over the condom, but Crevanille is fascinated more by the look of his hands more than the feel--large, somewhat boney, the knuckles standing out. 

He comes watching his hands, then the explosion of white inside the condom. He carefully removes and knots it to keep it all in. Putting it on the table seems a bit much, but he might step on it on the floor...

"Napkin?"

"Uh, thanks." He gingerly cleans up a little before tucking back in. The softer he gets, the more just patting it hurts. "What about you?"

"Oh, I don't need anything, really. This is just for you."

"Well, if that's the case... let me see your sock garters."

They kiss again, Ludwig chuckling against his mouth. "Don't you want to save it for later?"

"Nah. Just... roll up your sleeves and let me take your slacks off."

Ludwig looks good-humoredly exasperated, but starts rolling up. "Is this some sort of out of dress uniform fetish?"

"Just for you." He sits himself between Ludwig's knees and pulls his slacks down, noting how his leg muscles tense to raise his butt up for him. It too he folds and sets aside. 

The look of him in under-dressed dress; dress shirt sleeves rolled up to show his forearms, glasses, briefs full in front, socks and garters, dress shoes, and not a hair out of place. The very image of a gorgeous professional middle-aged man.

Crevanille traces his nails over his calves; the garter leather, skin, then ribbed sock. The shape of him, hard with muscle. "You are absolutely... perfect."

Ludwig looks pleased by the attention. He's still slightly pink-faced, breathing deeply, as he  unbuttons his shirt down to the center of his chest. "If you're done gawking, I have to get to bed soon. Unless..."

"Unless?" All he can see is his collarbone and some tasty decolletege.

"If you think you can," Ludwig begins, "I'll allow you the priviledge of coming on my socks. But if you try and waste my time, I'll whip you myself." His tone says he's joking, but his smile is too sharp. Crevanille is not sure if he really would, but he'd probably end up regretting it anyway; he feels turned on further by the ambiguousness.

Might as well go for the gold. And the thought of being punished if he can't... it doesn't bother him.

He feels so intensely sensitive that rubbing himself hurts. But god he looks so so good, so above him, with that coldly benevolent smile he wants to warm and melt. His hands stutter over the idea of being fucked, but fucking him especially, to see what kind of face he'd make then.

The pain eases as he grows more physically aroused but he can't help whimpering when he squirts. It feels so sharp that it almost doesn't feel good at all, like a knife searing through his privates. Thin semen splatters on the side of a sock.

He gasps for breath and can't help falling forward, cheek resting on Ludwig's knee, the same leg that he befouled. His hair is being stroked.

"You did rather well," Ludwig murmurs. There's an approving note to it that warms his chest. 

"I'm glad..." He parts as his hair is given another little scruff. His hand wanders again up his calve; he's sorry it's such a sad display, like a slug-slime trail. 

Ludwig leans over, their foreheads bumping, as he unclasps his messy sock. Pulled-off, it leaves a beautiful striated pattern in his flesh.

"Have this washed by tomorrow morning," he says, sounding all business again. "Now if you don't mind, I do have to get to sleep."

Crevanille mumbles an affirmative, eyes on his one bare foot.

**Author's Note:**

> :edits: WHY DO I SEE ALL THIS ONLY AFTER I PUBLISH AHHHH JUST LET ME DIE


End file.
